In Sickness And In Health
by Ink On Paper
Summary: An ex-Mossad officer with a headcold and a very Special Agent with a wounded shoulder. . . . Ah, the possiblities here are endless. TIVA.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Please, nobody keep count of how many in-progress stories I have going! I just had to get this out tonight -I've had writer's block for the past week and now it's like somebody opened a floodgate. The lost bunnies are back! So here is the product of sudden musing. Let me know what you think, Kit.**

**DISCLAIMER: Yeah, it doesn't ever change, you know?**

**I.**

"Ziva? Um, Ziva?" frantic shaking of her shoulder roused her from a Nyquil induced nap and she blinked fuzzily up at one concerned Tim McGee.

"McGee?" she rasped, struggling to sit up straight in the molded plastic chair she was currently slumped in. Her efforts, however, were rewarded with a incapacitating dizzy spell, McGee barely steadying her before she toppled over. "Toda."

He eyed her warily, deciding to keep an firm hold on her slender forearm, "Are you okay?"

"Yes," she said, though conviction was promptly contradicted with an assault of coughs. McGee passed her the hankie from his back pocket, pressing the cloth into her hand gently. She nodded her thanks, burying her nose in the white cotton, blowing loudly.

He waited patiently until she was done, smiling at him weakly, falling back against the wall, limp. "Are we gonna need to admit you too?" he joked, timid. Ziva fixed him with a look that clearly conveyed incomprehension and it took her a few minutes before his words actually registered with her.

"Tony!" she exclaimed, standing up, McGee anticipating this and bracing her slight weight against his chest.

"Calm down, he's fine," McGee soothed, depositing her back in her chair. He smiled reassuringly to an orderly in blue scrubs that was eyeing them, worried.

Ziva rested her pounding head against the stake white walls of the emergency room, letting out a shaking sigh, "What happened?"

"Er, I'm not entirely sure . . . . I was clearing the back when I heard the shots. Gibbs says the perp was hiding in the pantry, shot through the door and hit Tony. Took a bullet to the shoulder -nothing serious, more of a flesh wound to be honest. . . . Lot of blood."

Ziva opened her mouth to ask something else but was interrupted, again, by another coughing fit -this one attacking with a vengeance. "Sorry," she said, words warped with congestion.

"McGee," a gruff voice acknowledged from the corridor to their right. Gibbs came forward, blue eyes tired, pushing a wheelchair full of a sleeping DiNozzo.

He had spent the last four hours waiting, impatiently, for some resident to sew up his senior agent, repairing damaged muscle -nothing drastic- and putting enough staples in the kid to set off a metal detector. And now he finally gets the paperwork squared away, tomes of release forms signed, sworn on his grave that he would not leave Tony unsupervised. Yes, he would make sure Tony took it easy for the next few days. No, he would not allow his top agent to work in the field for two weeks, at least. And yes, someone would bring him back Friday to make sure everything was mending properly. And as a result of this, Gibbs was particularly annoyed. Annoyed that McGee had vanished, leaving him alone to deal with a broody matron and a dopey Tony, who had, unfortunately, been given an ample dose of pain killers.

And now here was McGee talking up some strange woman who upon closer inspection was not really as unknown as he'd previously thought. Because the pale girl relaxed in the chair beside McGee, was none other than his probationary agent that had called in ill at 0736 earlier that morning.

"Ziver," Gibbs said, abandoning Tony, head lolling against his chest, a few feet away, but out of foot-traffic. "You look like hell."

She gazed up at him blearily, sniffling softly. "Thank you, Gibbs," she replied coolly, dark eyes teasing.

Gibbs patted her arm gently, turning to his junior agent. "She's your reinforcement, Tim?"

McGee gulped, "Well, boss, Abby is in court and we've still got an open case and, well, Ziva made the most logical sense-" but the rest of his argument was drown out by Ziva's coughing.

"I am perfectly capable of taking care of Tony and myself," she wheezed, unconvincingly.

Gibbs sighed, determined not to admit that McGee was right -again- or that his very ill ex-Mossad assassin was really the only available babysitter. Instead he growled, reluctantly, "Go get DiNozzo. Let's see if we can't get him into the car."

"Whose car, boss?"

"Our car."

Ziva piped up, "I can drive us back to my place."

This was met by two are-you-kidding-me glares, one courtesy of the master, the other source surprisingly McGee. "Ziver," Gibbs placated, quickly realizing that she firmly intended to back up her previous statement, "you can barely stand up. Let us take you two home. If it makes you feel any better, it's an order." The last three words effectively quelled all her protests.

...

Gibbs accelerated and McGee hazarded a glance at the backseat.

Ziva was leaning up against the window, the cool glass soothing her aching skull. She was dressed plainly -as plainly as McGee had ever seen her- in faded jeans and a worn pullover sweatshirt, the black fleece making her pallor seem extra grey. Her nose was red, her lips chapped. She restrained her hair in a loose bun and even now ebony tendrils were escaping the confines of their rubber band. He could hear her breath rattle in her chest.

Tony was slumped against her, his head in her lap, secured there by her palm resting on his face. His injured shoulder was limp against his side, bandaged in white gauze and tape, shrouded in a navy sling. Sandy brown hair mussed up and dark stains that rivaled Ziva's blossomed beneath his eyes. He was snoring softly, but Tim was glad for this. It was much better than him being awake and rambling analgesic induced words.

They were quite a pair, Tony and Ziva.

And it was a wonder she didn't cause him another readmission to the hospital. As Gibbs and McGee struggled with Tony's deadweight, trying to force him into the backseat, the patient decided to regain consciousness briefly. Ocean eyes unfocused on Ziva, who had been watching over Gibb's should with wry amusement, and proudly proclaiming, "I know her. . . . I love her!" To which Ziva blushed, before another fit of hacking, McGee nearly stumbled backwards, and Gibbs' hand connected with the back of the injured man's head.

Rather if it was the pain medication that reclaimed DiNozzo's consciousness or the Gibbs-induced concussion, McGee wasn't entirely sure . . . .


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Okay, so I fail at multi-story-tasking, but only have a half day of school tomorrow, so I should have extra time to write, possibly update the Playlist and Fathers. . . . I thought this was an okay bridge between Chapter 1 and Chapter 3, something to set the scene of Ziva's apartment. And Tony's loopiness -because loopy Tony is oodles of fun. And to everyone who reviewed, thank you tank you thank you. 17 reviews for one chapter? That's just so happiness -it really made my day! So I've rambled on enough, on to Chapter 2 -Keep letting me know how I'm doing?**

**DISCLAIMER: And . . . . . Yeah, pretty much.**

**II.**

Dark eyes fluttered open as the car lurched to a halt, blinking dazedly. She knew she was in a car, but couldn't quite remember why, though she recognized the muted voices of McGee and Gibbs so she refrained from panicking. There was a heaviness pressed against her thigh, the warmth radiating through her jeans. She lifted her fist to her eyes, rubbing vigorously like a child, coaxing reluctant feeling back into her limbs.

Why Tony was sleeping in her lap, she wasn't entirely for sure.

And then the car door opened and Gibbs had his hand extended to her, calloused palm up, but she declined his offer, dragging herself up and out of the car, unassisted. She swayed momentarily, steadied by Gibbs, whose lips pressed into a thin line. And then she remembered.

_She had been asleep, napping fitfully on her couch, the ability to breathe through her nose having long been denied her eons -or so it felt- ago. There was a frantic ringing in her ear, an insistence that was both rousing and annoying to no end. So she was brought from the deep cover of sleep, drawn reluctantly to reality._

_After searching for the irritable phone that was lurking under her pillow, ironically directly beneath her ear, she answered stuffily, "Hello?"_

"_Ziva?" and McGee's voice had crackled over the line and she had sighed, bracing herself for the worst: Abby's hearse had another flat, she was stranded and needed rescue assistance some ridiculous amount of miles away. Or Gibbs had changed his mind and needed her there at work, despite her hundred degree fever. Or-_

"_Tony's been shot."_

_Or that. That which was much much worse._

"_Where are you?" she had demanded, head spinning but not from sinus congestion._

"_Bethesda."_

"_I'll be there in twenty-"_

"_Ziva, he's fine," McGee assured hurriedly._

"_Then I'll be there in thirty." And forty-five minutes later she arrived, nauseated, at the emergency room, McGee receiving her just inside the door . . . ._

"Alright, Tony," McGee grunted, hefting his coworker's good arm over his shoulder. Tony leaned against McGee, eyes still unfocused, slurring, "Alright-y Timmy. Or Gemcity. Or Probie. Or McGoo. Or Rin Tim Tim."

"That's great, Tony," McGee deadpanned, glad that in a few minutes he'd be back at the Navy Yard, far away from Tony -who, respectively, was far away wherever the drugs take him. A slight pang of guilt lanced through McGee, though, as he remembered that poor Ziva would have to deal with Dopey for the remainder of the day.

"McGee? Ya coming?" Gibbs called gruffly from the base of the stairs that led up to the second, third, and fourth floors of the apartment complex. Ziva was already halfway up the first flight, pausing once to cough violently.

"Uh, Ziva?" McGee panted having just reached the second landing, supporting nearly all of DiNozzo, who had reverted to mumbling something incoherently.

She casted a quick glance over her shoulder, arching an eyebrow in fatigued amusement. "Yes, McGee?"

"Please tell me your place is on the second floor."

"Third floor."

McGee's grumbled reply was interrupted by Gibbs roughly bumping him out of the way and slipping his shoulder under Tony's arm. "Um, thank you Boss?"

Gibbs only grunted.

"Boss? Is that you, Boss?" Tony wondered aloud, craning his neck back to judge Gibbs' profile. Gibbs resolutely ignored him to the soundtrack of more coughing.

…

Ziva nudged the front door open with her toe, simultaneously withdrawing her key from the lock. Her fingers brushed blindly along the smooth wall until they located the switch, the lights flickering to life. Gibbs followed behind her, steering DiNozzo before him, a firm grasp on his good shoulder. McGee brought up the rear.

Ziva's home was sparse, but cozy. The walls were a neutral beige broken up with soft blue curtains framing a huge window that ran along the opposite. A couch sat angled before the window, facing a large shelving unit that held a blank television and assortment of books and objects. A large grey armchair interrupted the flow between the den and kitchen, and from what McGee could tell, both rooms were spotless. The carpet underfoot was plush and soft, the lighting bright and warm. The whole place seemed so un-Ziva, but yet, fit her perfectly.

McGee took careful mental notes of Ziva's new apartment for Abby's benefit later -the Israeli had not had any company since her return so no one had actually seen her new accommodations. . . . .

"Did you move the furniture?" Tony asked, scrutinizing the room with squinted eyes. "Because I definitely don't remember your chair being there . . . ."

"DiNozzo, you can't even spell your name," Gibbs said in exasperation, pushing Tony toward the couch, on which he collapsed, rather ungracefully. "Are you sure you're gonna be able to put up with him?" he whispered to Ziva.

She offered him a weak smile in reply, "You know how Tony is on pain meds -as soon as he's quieted down, he'll sleep. We'll be fine -" but whatever else she was going to say was stemmed of by a sneeze.

"Gesundheit."

"Danke."

Gibbs sighed, relenting, if only because he had just glanced at his wrist, realizing he'd been away from the Navy Yard for several hours where paperwork and a trigger-happy perp waited impatiently. "Fine," he growled, "I'll send Abby by later to check in on you. You call if you need anything, understood."

She nodded, suppressing a cough. "But I am unplugging my landline."

"Keep your cell on."

"Fine."

"And get some rest."

"I will-"

"Plenty of fluids-"

"Gibbs."

The silver-haired marine's lips twitched upward in wry amusement. "Let's roll, McGee."

And as McGee departed after Gibbs, the door closing to more coughing and Tony's slurred attempts at spelling his name, he realized something.

Tony had said she'd moved her chair. . . . But how did he know where it was originally?

…

Ziva straightened up, taking a cautious breath. "Alright, Tony. Let us go lay down, yes?"

He fixed her with the dazed expression she was rapidly becoming used to before chirping brightly, "I love you."

She favored him a small smile, offering him her hand, "So you've said. . . ."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Before I say anything, let me just thank everyone who reviewed, you are all lovely and fabulous and amazing! So now here we go and I apologize for the delay -and the lack of other updates to my other stories :^) I think I'm going to sober Tony up a little bit in the next chapter even though he is so much fun to write in pain meds! So, here we go, Chapter 3. Let me know what you think, Kit.**

**DISCLAIMER: And . . . . what? You think anything's changed from the last update? It hasn't, unfortunately. *Sigh***

**III.**

"Zee-vah."

Soft whispers were interrupting her dreaming of cold medicine induced apparitions that danced colorfully behind her eyelids. The imploring ceased, so she sighed, settling back into the kind mattress beneath her aching bones, drifting farther . . . .

"Zee-vah."

There was a heaviness beside her, an additional source of heat, warming the cocoon of sheets around her, something running at a slightly lower body temperature. A cool roughness brushed the arch of her foot and she jerked away, startled and annoyed. She felt Tony move his offending foot, murmuring, "Sorry."

She sniffled at him, curling around herself, keeping her back to him. He quieted next to her and she permitted to relaxing again, closing her heavy eyelids. And when she was just on the cusp of slumber . . . .

"Zee-vah."

She rolled over with a moan, keeping her eyes firmly shut, hoping she looked menacing enough to effectively shut her partner up. He didn't say anything, so she cracked one eye open, glaring spookily.

Tony was laying on his back, propped up on a generous amount of pillows -some that had been recruited from her living room couch. He held his hand up to his face, ocean eyes intensely focused as he studied his fingertips. His forehead was furrowed, the skin bridging his eyebrows puckered in his concentration.

"What," she hissed crossly, "do you want?"

Tony turned his attention to her, eyes flickering up and down her countenance. "Huh?"

"You woke me up and you better have a very good reason as to why."

"I do," he insisted.

And her waiting for him to elaborate proved futile, so she prompted him harshly with, "_And_?"

Tony's voice took on a solemn, almost reflective, quality.

"My fingers are all tingly, like vibrating tingly." He fixed her with a pointed stare, adding, "It's very annoying."

"I can only imagine," she snarled, shunning him once more.

He let her nap in peace for the next hour or so.

...

It was her headache that shattered her sleep an hour later. The sharp throbbing behind her eyes was unbearable, surely her brain was exploding inside her skull -she vaguely wondered if she should call Ducky, describe her symptoms . . . . She detangled her arms from the snarl of sheets that were incasing her, thin cotton sticking to the thin layer of sweat that glistened on her feverish skin. Her fingers were hot against her burning forehead, but the kneading of her fingertips against her temple felt good. She needed aspirin.

Pulling herself into a sitting position, she leaned over her bedside table, grunting as her brain slammed against her skull. Her fingers found the knob on the drawer and it slid out of its housing with a hiss. She rummaged around until she found the white bottle of ibuprofen, popping the lid off forcefully, only to find that to her dismay, it was empty.

And it was then that she realized Tony was no longer next to her.

"Tony!"

She sprang out of bed, swearing in Hebrew as she stumbled from another dizzy spell. Gathering her bearings and her balance, she began her frantic searching to the tempo of a rapidly hammering heart.

"Tony!"

She padded into her living room, wheezing, after a fruitless search of her bathroom and closet, only to find it too was absent of Tony. As was the kitchen. And the little balcony that opened off her living room. . . .

But her front door was yawning wide open.

"Tony!" she roared hoarsely, sprinting out into the corridor, panting and heaving, doubling over with vicious coughing.

"Ziva?"

She struggled to straighten up, succeeding with a withering glare. She stalked over to him, where he stood, barefooted, casting about in the fading evening sun, completely and utterly confused.

"What," she demanded, croakily, "are you doing out here?"

He looked down at her, ocean eyes unfocused, pupils seeming to dilate and shrink interchangeably. "I wanted a glass of water. I was thirsty. But I can't seem to locate your kitchen-"

"You're not even in my apartment anymore!"

He blinked, cocking his head to the side, "Reeeeeally?"

"Yes!"

"Oh."

"Ziva?" a timid voice asked from her right. She diverted her attention from her inebriated partner to her frail, elderly neighbor who was peering from around her front door in terrified wonder.

And they had to be quite a sight, with her curls matted and tangled against her neck, her olive skin pale and flushed, clad in a pair of baggy sweatpants and Navy issued hoodie, body nearly flush against Tony's. And then Tony himself, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts and Ohio State t-shirt, his sandy hair tousled, eyes confused as he gazed down at the tiny Israeli before him.

"Shalom, Mrs. Peters," Ziva rasped pleasantly, backing away from her partner, shooting him a warning sideways glance. "How are you?"

Mrs. Peters squinted at the pair, debating rather to leave her neighbor alone or phone the police on a domestic disturbance complaint. The latter, however, she decided against, because, frankly, Miss David was an amiable young lady, helping whenever needed since she moved into the vacant flat in October. And the fact that, for some reason, Mrs. Peters had a feeling that if the foreign woman, who worked for the government even, intended to do harm to the handsome gentleman she was currently squared off with, he would undoubtedly be on the floor, bleeding. So she smiled uncertainly, closing her door, opting to drown out the bickering by turning up the volume on QVC.

As soon as Mrs. Peters wrinkled face vanished behind her door, Ziva's cheery façade was dismissed and she returned to glare up at Tony. However, the energy from his disappearance had retreated, leaving her drained and weary.

"Come on," she sighed, wrapping her hands around his good arm, guiding him back to her apartment. "Let's go get you some water. And me an aspirin."

"You okay?"

"Migraine."

Tony nodded sympathetically, "Whatever you do, don't use morphine."

She favored him a small smile, assuring, "I won't."

And after she had fixed him a glass of water and taken a generous dosing of Advil, she led him back to her bedroom, bestowing upon him the television remote before sinking back into her pillows, burrowing in the sea of blankets and mountain of tissues.

She drifted off to the sound of a _Friends_ rerun, her fingers entwined with Tony's -just lest he decided to wander off again.

And from her foggy state of rest, she could have sworn he whispered something in her ear. Something that started with 'I' and ended with 'you' . . . . . .


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Ah-ha! I FINALLY got everything that needed updating updated! Yes! And the American's just won gold in women's freestyle skiing! Okay, anyway, focusing back now. I really have no idea about this chapter, I really hope it doesn't disappoint, so if you want, I would totally LOVE some feedback. There will definitely be at least one more chapter, maybe more, I don't know yet . . . . Okay, so I think that about sums that up. You guys are totally awesome. Kit.**

**DISCLAIMER: Still no? Really? That's I shame, I sincerly was hoping that something changed this time. Oh, well, there is always tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the next day. Or-**

**IV.**

He had drifted off, finally succumbing to an adrenaline crash and the weight of several hospital strength painkillers, napping lightly beside his partner for four hours or so. He only woke up after he rolled over on his bum shoulder, rocketing into a sitting position with a hiss.

The pain that had dulled to a muted ache returned with a vengeance, lancing through his shoulder like a molten knife. He blinked back the moisture brimming in his eyes, muttering a few choice curses as he tentatively massaged the offending limb. He cast a furtive to his right, praying silently he hadn't woken the sleeping bear-

It was then that he realized Ziva was no longer next to him.

The bedroom door was still closed, the space at the threshold dark. Unless she was dozing on the couch, which he highly doubted . . . .

Water was running, the noise finally registering as he noticed the dimmed light filtering out from beneath the bathroom door, casting a pale glow across the carpet. He swung his legs around to the edge of the bed, feet planted firmly on the floor as he stood up with a grimace.

Four strides and he was at the bathroom door, debating rather to knock or just walk in unannounced. Deciding that the latter was probably suicide, he gave a tentative rap against the wood, but this gesture went unanswered. So he forewent proper etiquette and simply walked in, bracing himself for a certain pissed off ninja, but was met with another sight completely.

Ziva was sitting on the ledge of the bathtub, her head resting against the cool tile wall. Her hair fell loosely over her shoulder, tangled and frizzy in the humidity of the bathroom. Her face was a ghostly white, dark stains under her eyes, her nose red and raw. She clutched a tissue limply in her hand. Her eyelids parted slightly, chocolate eyes watching him briefly before sliding closed again. She cleared her throat before rasping over the running shower, "Are you sane again?"

"Have I ever been sane, Miss David?" he replied smoothly, shutting the bathroom door with a click, perching on the sink, mindful of the condensation dripping down the smooth surface of the foggy mirror.

Ziva granted him a faint quirk of her lips, amending, "Valid argument."

"How are you feeling?"

She opened her eyes, lifting an eyebrow, unamused. "About as well as I look, Tony," she said, eyes closing again.

"You hungry?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"You want me to make you some soup?"

"Mmm."

"Okay, then. . . . I'll go start that. You, ah, stay here and, ah, steam," he said gently as he slipped out of the sauna, door clicking closed behind him. He should have told her how beautiful she looked.

...

"Smells good."

Tony paused his stirring, tossing a glance over his shoulder. Ziva stood leaning against the counter, smirking. He returned to tending the soup, suppressing a grin as he stated, "Like you could smell anything."

She sniffled at him in response, moving to take up a seat at her kitchen table, dropping her head down onto the lacquered wood. "It is about time you came around."

Tony shrugged, laying the spoon down on a saucer he'd found in the dishwasher, turning around, back against the cabinet. "Damn meds. So, was I completely insufferable?"

"More than your usual insufferable?" she asked coyly.

He schooled his features into mock offense, a look of feigned hurt entering his eyes as he pouted at her. "Ouch. That stings, Ziva."

She smirked at his antics and deciding not to call his bluff, restated his previous question, "Were you insufferable? Hm. . . ." She pretended to ponder over this, knowing that he was watching her every moment, waiting to hear what embarrassing tidbit he'd let slip, uncensored. "Before or after you escaped from the apartment?"

"I escaped from the apartment?" he asked, surprised.

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning, deadpanning, "Yes. You made it as far as Mrs. Peters' door before I found you. You were looking for water."

"Huh. Honestly don't remember that. . . . ." and he returned to the simmering soup, their conversation lulling into a companionable silence as he ladled out the soup, bestowing a bowl before Ziva was a flourish and "Bon appetit."

"Merci beaucoup."

He flashed her his patent smile, returning to the stove to retrieve his own bowl, mentally cursing the inconvenience of his slinged arm as he dropped his spoon to Ziva's snorting. After procuring himself a clean utensil, slid into the empty seat across from Ziva, asking, "Well?"

She finished blowing on her spoonful of soup before sampling it daintily. She closed her eyes, merely toying with him now, he realized, before nodding her approval. "I am sure it is delicious, Tony."

He swallowed his own mouthful of chicken noodle, scalding his throat in the process. "Can't taste it, can you?"

She offered him a small grin, shaking her head, tentatively sipping the broth. "How is your arm?" she rasped, clearing her throat forcefully.

"Not too bad," he lied. Between the drugs and the stress of taking a bullet, he had a throbbing headache to accompany his sore shoulder. "As much as I want to talk to you, Ziva, you probably shouldn't be talking."

She wrinkled her nose at him, pantomiming zipping her lips.

He smiled at her again and they finished their meal in a comfortable quiet.

...

After thirty minutes of channel surfing, Tony had finally found something worth devoting his attention to: A rerun of the ever-classic _I Love Lucy. _He wasn't entirely sure which episode it was having tuned in half-way through the programming, but it was better than the idles of the news. Unfortunately football season was over and he couldn't stand to watch the crime dramas as they never seemed accurate, and the only thing left was either a HGTV DIY on home staging or the depressing news of ZNN. And therefore, Lucy would do.

Ziva had nodded off next to him a few minutes after they had laid back down. She was angled toward him, curled into an impossibly small ball beneath a generous amount of blankets, her breathing labored from congestion. She look peaceful despite how awful she must feel. He didn't know what possessed him, but he cautiously reached over and stroked her cheek with two fingers. Her forehead was damp and dangerously warm with a fever.

It took him a full five minutes to extricate himself from the confines of her bed due to the slow care he took to not disturb her. His feet sank into the carpet, his footsteps muffled as he tiptoed into her bathroom, seeking a washcloth. He finally came up successful, hitting the jackpot in the cabinet under the sink as he located a terrycloth rag which he dampened with cool water. A bottle of Tylenol rested on the counter and he decided to take two tablets with him.

"Hey," he whispered, leaning over her. "Ziva."

"Mmm-nuh hupt," came her incoherent reply as she shifted, burying her face into her pillow.

"Ziva," he repeated, gently insistent. "You need to take this. Come on, wake up for a sec." Murmuring something softly, she allowed him to help prop her up -a difficult procedure considering his decommissioned arm and her fever-induced delirium.

She blinked at him, struggling to keep her eyes open, "Wha'?"

"It's okay," he assured her, placing the pills on her tongue, taking the water glass from the bedside table and putting it to her chapped lips. She swallowed and he eased her back down, wrenching his shoulder, hissing.

"You okay?" she whispered faintly, eyes still firmly closed.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he muttered, taking the cool compress and laying it across her forehead.

"Mmm."

"I know," he replied, returning to his side of the bed and climbing back beneath the covers. He dropped onto his back, should throbbing and closed his eyes. Ziva was snoring again, though wheezing would have been a more accurate description.

He was on the cusp of slumber when he heard her murmur something that suspiciously included his name, her lips twitching upward in her sleep.

It took him a few delayed moments before he was able to translate the garbled English in his head. A smile broke out over his face as his fingers found hers under the sheets.

"I love you too, Ziva," he said softly before joining her in dreamland.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Well, this is it! I really hope I didn't disappoint with this chapter! I have so many more Tiva ideas that I cannot wait to expand upon -I'm hoping to write a companion piece to 'What Is Missing' and I have several little oneshots sitting half-finished on my laptop. Unfortunately, I probably won't post anything until the end of this week because I am going to have a ton of make-up work for school because, and here's something incredibly ironic, I had a headcold this past week that rivaled Ziva's -I kid you not! So anyway, on to the final chapter! Let me know what you think? Kit.**

**DISCLAIMER: And . . . . . Nothing. Shocker, I know.**

**V.**

Gertrude Peters was watching a captivating rerun of the _Wheel-of-Fortune _when a faint knock sounded from her front door. With a sigh she reluctantly got up, joints popping in protest, her slippered feet shuffling across the carpet as she made her way slowly to the door. Perhaps, she mused, if she was lucky, that handsome stranger with the funny mannerisms would be on the other side. . . . However, if that was the case, then her neighbor wouldn't be too far behind and Miss Ziva had a bad head cold, poor thing.

However when the front swung open it did not reveal Miss Ziva's fetching counterpart, but what could very possibly be a vampire.

The younger woman was nearly a head taller than the small, elderly lady, shroud in a long, onyx trench coat with skeletal designs decorating the lapels. Two ebony pigtails peeked out from under a black scarf, the gauzy material mimicking spider webs. Her pale face lit up in warm greeting as her crimson lips tugged upward.

"Hi!" the stranger chirped brightly, cocking her head to the side.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Peters was stunned into speechlessness so to fill the void of awkward silence, the Vampire Woman continued speaking, her words running together in a seemingly endless tangle.

"Um, I really hate to bother you but I'm looking for Ziva David's apartment? I work with her, at NCIS. And she's sick and then Tony's hurt and, you know, I'm supposed to generally make sure Ziva hasn't, that is, it's just, you know, she's, well, he's Tony-"

And all Mrs. Peters could do was point mutely to the door down the hall and watch in fascination as the Vampire Woman skipped merrily to the next address. _Gurdy_, she thought shaking her head and returning to Pat Sajak, _the girls at Bunco are never gonna believe this_.

...

"Ziva? Tony? It's Abby," Abby called, stepping over the threshold and into Ziva's warm apartment. She looked around in awe, absorbing every detail of the tenement, the warm golden light from the floor lamp illuminating the quiet beige walls, gentle blue curtains, soft cream carpet of the living room. She wandered over to the shelving unit that held the dark television where several books and personal objects also rested.

Abby quickly scanned the books' spines: _Pride and Prejudice, Moby Dick, A People's History of the United States_, several manuals on naturalization. A few DVDs were stacked neatly near the television, _Shawshank Redemption, Finding Nemo, the Holiday, Slumdog Millionaire, the Sound of Music_. It was the personal effects, however, that really captured her attention.

An old battered ballet slipper, a porcelain frog, an oriental tea set. An antique perfume bottle and a geode the size of a fist, the center an eruption of cobalt blue. . . . .

There was a cough from another room and Abby was reluctantly brought back to the present, her momentary distraction to her friend's personal life filed away. It had been so quiet in the little apartment that Abby had actually wondered if Tony and Ziva were there at all, but as she made her down the hall to where she supposed was the bedroom, she saw evidence that contradicted her previous notion.

Ziva's jogging sneakers were placed neatly against the wall, the heels she wore to work between them and Tony's own shoes. . . . Draped over a kitchen chair was a woolen coat, the emerald fabric bright in the spotless kitchen . . . . Two bowls and three spoons rested in the sink, a pot with a little broth waiting idly on the cool stovetop. . . . Nyquil, ibuprofen, and an orange bottle of percocet prescribed to Anthony D. DiNozzo were lined up neatly on the counter. . . . Yes, Abby concluded, somebody was definitely home.

…

She held the handle down as she pushed the door open slowly, not wanting to disturb Tony or Ziva if they were sleeping.

The faint light cast from the television washed over the two dozing figures in the darkened bedroom.

Tony was on his back, face relaxed, chest rising and falling in steady breaths. The white bandages on his shoulder were thrown into stark relief in the ghostly glow of the TV, but he didn't seem to be in much pain. In fact, Abby realized with quirk of her lips, he seemed very comfortable with Ziva coiled against his side, a fan of raven curls falling across both her pillow and his. She had her lips slightly parted, faint rattle-like snores mingling with the low volume of the TV.

Both partners were clearly alive, breathing, and in no worse shape than Gibbs had initially left them hours earlier.

Very quietly, or as quietly as platform boots could be, Abby backed out of the bedroom, the door clicking shut softly.

…

_One week later. . . . ._

"Any idea why the boss keeps giving me the evil eye?" Tony wondered, half risen out of his chair in an attempt to get a better view as to where Gibbs had gone.

Ziva glanced up from her computer screen, nimble fingers still typing rapidly. She shrugged silently, chocolate eyes vaguely amused, before returning to her report.

"Probie?" Tony demanded, unfazed, turning his inquiry to McGee, the younger man also intently typing away.

However, whereas the pretty Israeli had brushed off the vital question as what Gibbs was so irritated about, continuing with her previous task, the constant tap of McGee's keyboard paused as he looked up, failing miserably at containing his smirk. A smirk that did not go unnoticed by Tony's keen eye.

"What's that smirk?" he asked.

"What smirk?" McGee replied innocently.

Tony narrowed his eyes, pointing his finger in McGee's direction, "That smirk. Right there. What's that smirk, McSmirk?"

McGee shrugged, the clacking of his keyboard resumed. "No idea."

Tony, though, remained skeptical: "You have no idea what I did to piss Gibbs off?"

"Rule 12, DiNozzo."

"Rule 12, Boss? Never date a coworker."

"Then why the hell you telling Agent David you love her?" Gibbs demanded gruffly, settling in behind his desk with a fresh cup of coffee. He couldn't help but grin as his Senior Agent's eyes grew as round as saucers.

"I-I-I w-what, Boss?" Tony spluttered, bewildered gaze flickering from Gibbs to McGee (still smirking) to Ziva (now extremely entertained).

Gibbs leaned back in his chair, idly sipping his coffee, "Told Ziva you loved her."

"Twice," McGee added helpfully.

Tony, now completely mortified, a crimson blush staining his face, creeping around his ears, and coloring his neck, turned utterly terrified eyes to the apparent object of his affections.

But Ziva only returned his stare, not entirely stricken as he, but a pinkish tinge had ghosted across her cheeks.

"Well," Tony said weakly, a grin tugging at his lips despite the potentially fate situation his uncensored ramblings had found him in. "You know what they say, in sickness and in health, for better or worse."

"DiNozzo," Gibbs growled in warning, "shut up before you make it much, much worse."

"Right, Boss."

**FIN**

…

**A/N: Hey, if anybody's interested I need some Tiva quotes! An example would be "Nothing is inevitable." And it doesn't really have to be Tiva, it just needs to have depth, you know? So if anyone would like to drop me a line, it was be extremely appreciated! You guys are the best! Kit.**


End file.
